The Final Sacrifice
by Demolition.Lover.14
Summary: AU ending to The Family Business: Elspeth goes to the roof instead of Sherlock to confront Moriarty, and finds that in order to save everyone she loves, she must make the final sacrifice.


_This is actually an AU of an AU; in my series The Family Business/The Game Changer, Sherlock Holmes has a daughter, Elspeth. Though I suppose this fic makes sense on its own, most of its context is more understandable if you've read The Family Business first._

* * *

_Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl_

_Frozen in the headlights_

_It seems I've made the final sacrifice_

**Come and play. Bart's Hospital rooftop. **

**PS. Got something of yours you might want back.**

Her hands shook as she hurriedly wrote the text, hastily adding Sherlock's initials. It would only work if he thought it was from Sherlock.

"It's simple," Sherlock had told her and John triumphantly, pacing across the lab. "Binary code. That's why the assassins tried to save my life! It was hidden on me, hidden inside my head – a few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system!"

For Sherlock Holmes, it was a simple solution. Elspeth wasn't so sure. It seemed clever, exceedingly clever. Even for Jim Moriarty, whose whole life seemingly centred on making Sherlock dance for his own amusement. John couldn't contain his excitement when Sherlock announced he had found the solution. This was it, the final solution, the way to kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty.

Elspeth's gut twisted when Sherlock came to his conclusion. Something didn't seem right.

So she pickpocketed Sherlock's coat – he was too excited to notice – and left the lab, mumbling an excuse about needing the toilet.

It was a stupid idea, Elspeth should've known that, but she knew that Sherlock and John wouldn't have listened to her if she told them that she had a bad feeling about her father's conclusion. Why would they? Sherlock Holmes was the great consulting detective, the only one in the world! She was just Elspeth.

By the time Elspeth returned to the lab, it was empty. Sherlock's coat was gone. They must've left and assumed that Elspeth would catch up.

Sighing, she took a seat at one of the benches and prepared herself for a long wait.

The lab was so silent that Elspeth nearly fell off the stool when Sherlock's phone trilled a text alert, vibrating on the bench in front of her. **I'm waiting . . . JM. **

Elspeth gazed at the text for a few seconds. Was this the right thing to do? She ran a hand through a hair, bit down on her bottom lip, and pocketed Sherlock's phone as she rose from her seat, striding out of the lab. She had no other alternative.

It was surprisingly easy to get to the roof of the hospital. Elspeth thought – _hoped_ – that someone would stop her, but no one seemed to notice the teenage girl in her slightly too big hoodie slip through the fire escape and make her way up several flights of stairs. The door wasn't locked. People must've used it frequently.

The first thing Elspeth registered when she opened the door was just how _high_ the roof was. It made her feel slightly dizzy, a feeling she supressed as she let the door swing shut behind her. Taking in a deep breath, Elspeth looked across the roof to Moriarty, who sat on the raised ledge with his phone in one hand. She recognised the song playing, but didn't recognise its significance. She hadn't been there when Sherlock confronted Moriarty in the swimming pool. She'd been running across London with her clothes torn and her dignity shredded.

She crossed the roof slowly. Her feet barely made a sound against the hard surface. Moriarty sensed her and turned his head, and Elspeth couldn't help but revel in the genuine surprise that flickered in his eyes. Her face didn't betray her, as she continued to gaze at him passively.

"Ellie Holmes," Moriarty called over his music. "I can't say I was expecting you."

"I knew you'd only come if you thought he was texting you," Elspeth replied. She stopped a short distance away from him, making sure she was far from the edge of the roof. A grin slowly spread across Moriarty's face.

"Oh darling, you know I'd _always_ come for you," he purred. His words sent a shiver down Elspeth's spine, but her only reaction was to blink. "So here we are. You and me. _Stayin' alive_!" Moriarty cried, his grin turning into an angry grimace. "It's so boring, isn't it? It's just . . . _staying_."

Moriarty switched his phone off, tucking it into his pocket. He stood up. Elspeth took a small step back.

"All my life I've been searching for distractions," Moriarty continued. "Sherlock was the best distraction – no offence, Ellie – and now I don't even have him. Because I've beaten him."

As Moriarty strolled forwards, Elspeth remained still. She could barely breathe when his shoulder brushed against hers, something she knew he did on purpose. Moriarty knew how terrified of him she was. He knew exactly how to get to her.

"In the end, it was easy," Moriarty complained. He stopped behind her. "It was easy," he repeated directly into her ear, making Elspeth flinch and jerk away. He smirked. "I've got to go back to playing with the ordinary people . . ." his eyes roamed over Elspeth as she turned to face him. "After we've had our fun here, of course."

"Right now, right this second, my Dad is on his way to the police station," Elspeth told him. Her voice shook. She clenched her fists and steadied herself. "Binary code," she continued, remembering Sherlock's words. "The assassins tried to save his life because there's a computer code in his head, one that can break into any system."

Moriarty quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side in mock interest. "Oh?" he asked. "Tell me more."

"He can use it to alter the records, to kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty. That's what he thinks."

"And you don't?"

"It's . . . it's too clever. Even for both of you, it's too clever." Elspeth bit down on her bottom lip briefly, trying to gather her thoughts even though Moriarty had taken a step closer to her, their toes practically touching. Her heart raced uncomfortably, to the point it physically hurt for it to pound against her chest, and she could barely breathe. "There has to be a more simple solution," Elspeth finished. She took another small back.

For a few seconds, Moriarty simply stared at her. His dark eyes pierced hers and Elspeth felt her legs tremble. She remembered reading about the fight or flight syndrome in her Psychology lessons. She was fighting the very strong urge to run.

"Clever girl," Moriarty finally said, beaming. "Clever, clever girl. How does it feel, knowing something Sherlock doesn't? Oh I bet it feels _wonderful_, doesn't it?

Elspeth blinked. "I – I'm right?" she stammered incredulously. Moriarty smirked back, clearly enjoying her surprise. "Th – there isn't a key?"

"No," Moriarty said. He shook his head, his mood rapidly changing – his smirk fell as he paced away from Elspeth, burying his face in his hands. "No, no, no," he moaned. Lowering his hands, he whirled around and grabbed Elspeth by the shoulders. "There is no key, _DOOFUS!" _he screamed the last word in her face and she flinched, shrinking away. Moriarty seemed to realise he had lost control for a moment, as he slowly loosened his grip on her shoulders, gently smoothing down her hoodie with his palms.

"If there's no key . . ." Elspeth began, her voice trailing off uncertainly.

"The digits are meaningless, they're absolutely meaningless – of _course_ a couple of lines of computer code aren't going to bring the world crashing down by our ears!" Moriarty shook his head. "And Sherlock truly believed that? I'm disappointed, I'm disappointed in him." Suddenly, Moriarty whirled around and lumbered around the roof. "I'm Sherlock Holmes and I'm so bloody _ordinary_," he said in a deep, moronic voice. Bewildered, Elspeth shook her head and ran her hands through her hair.

"So how did you do it?" she asked weakly. "How did you break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison?"

Moriarty walked forwards, invading her personal space again. His breath tickled her face, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she forced herself to look into his dark eyes – they were too dark, she hated them – and not flinch.

"I want you to tell me," Moriarty murmured softly. Reaching up, he let his fingers brush along the length of her cheekbone, a slow and lazy caress. It so tender that Elspeth couldn't pull away. She stared at him with fear coursing through her, immobilising her, and remembered that night in the pool.

He hadn't been gentle then. He had grabbed her and dug his fingers into her skin, leaving bruises that would last for weeks, as his teeth bit into her skin, making her cry. It _hurt_ so much and he knew it, deliberately twisting his fingers and forcing her into the wall just to hear her yell again. Elspeth had asked – _begged _him to stop, tried to fight him off, screamed at the top of her voice, but he had simply forced his lips on hers, biting down so she would be quiet. He'd whispered such horrible things in her ear, making her feel dirty and cheap.

Elspeth felt sick thinking about it, so tried to focus on the man standing in front of her. His sudden and rapid mood changes terrified her. Moriarty was unstable, volatile. Dangerous.

Biting down on her bottom lip, Elspeth considered what Moriarty had told her. He was a consulting criminal, he had a _huge_ organisation, which meant he relied on people to carry out the crimes. Willing participants, even.

". . . participants," Elspeth said slowly. "People . . . lowering security, locking you into the Tower . . . releasing the prisoners. You didn't do any of it." Her eyes wandered from Moriarty's. Elspeth gazed out at the rooftops of London for a few seconds, her mouth open with realisation. She looked back at him. "You didn't do any of it," she repeated with more conviction. "You organised it all –"

"– and all it took were some willing participants," Moriarty finished with a wide grin. "I knew Sherlock would fall for it. It's a weakness, isn't it? You said it yourself – it's clever! Too clever! He always wants everything to be clever."

"But now that I know, I can tell him," Elspeth said. "I could ring him right now and tell him everything."

Moriarty's gaze was one of amusement. "Oh Ellie," he murmured, shaking his head. He swept her hair behind her ear. "What makes you think you're walking away from this?"

Elspeth blinked. Her heart missed a beat. "You won't kill me," she said, sounding a lot more confident than she felt. "You would've done it by now if you were."

"Kill you?" Moriarty repeated. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped with offence, pressing a hand to his heart as he stared back at him. The innocence in his eyes was almost convincing. Elspeth could see how he managed to worm his way into Molly's heart. "No, no, no, don't be so _boring_. Why would I want to kill you? There are so many other things we can do together." His voice dropped into a low murmur, his eyes lowering to her lips. When Moriarty leaned closer, Elspeth turned her head to the side so the tip of his nose brushed against her cheek. For some reason, it made him laugh.

"What's the alternative?" Elspeth asked stiffly, refusing to look at Moriarty. His hand cupped her chin gently, turning her head to face him.

"We finish the game. One final act. I'm glad you chose a tall building – nice way to do it."

"Do what?" Elspeth frowned, confused. Her eyes widened when realisation dawned on her and she shook her head. "You . . . you want me to – to _kill _myself?"

"I don't _want _you to, you _have_ to. It's the final solution."

Slowly, Elspeth stepped away from Moriarty. She turned and walked a bit closer to the edge of the roof, peering over so she could see the ground below. Dizziness overcame her; she stumbled backwards, squeezing her eyes shut and jumping when her back hit Moriarty's chest. He put his hands on her arms to hold her in place.

"No," Elspeth whimpered. She shook her head. "No, don't – I _can't_."

"You know, I was going to make Sherlock do it," Moriarty said conversationally. It was like they were discussing the weather. "Genius detective proved to be a fraud – I read it in the newspaper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairy tales." He leaned forwards and rested his chin on Elspeth's shoulder, tilting his head to the side. "And pretty Grimm ones too."

Tears spilled onto Elspeth's cheeks. She took in a deep breath before daring to open her eyes again. "Why?"

"Why do anything?" Moriarty pondered. His hands slid from her arms to her waist, his arms circling her and pulling her close in a mock embrace. "Can you _imagine _what would happen if you killed yourself? Uncle Mycroft would cry, Mrs Hudson would cry, John Watson would cry – Sherlock would cry and cry and cry. He might even go back to the nasty little drugs he used to use. He would be a disgrace."

That was what it was all about. Moriarty wanted to destroy Sherlock. The easiest way to do that was through Elspeth.

"I can still do it, you know – _Dad _can still do it," Elspeth insisted. Putting her hands on Moriarty's arms, she pushed them away and ripped herself from his embrace, whirling around to face him. "I ca still prove that Richard Brook was a fake."

Moriarty sighed. "Oh just kill yourself," he said wearily. "It's a lot less effort." Elspeth stared at him with horror, turning away. "Go on," Moriarty prompted. "For me. _Pleeeeeease?" _his voice was a high pitched squeal that dragged on, and the impulse was just too great; whirling around, Elspeth slapped him hard across the face.

"_Stop it!"_ she screamed, tears streaming down her face. "Jesus Christ – just _stop it_."

Elspeth paced away from him and ran her hands through her hair, trembling so much she could barely stay still. Rubbing his cheek, Moriarty straightened up and laughed, gazing at Elspeth with a mix of amazement and admiration.

"_Wow_," Moriarty breathed out, still laughing. "Ellie . . . that – that was _sexy_."

"You're insane," Elspeth spat back at him. Moriarty blinked.

"You're just getting that now?" Elspeth glowered at him furiously. "Ok, ok, let me give me a little incentive."

"What could you possibly say that will make me want to kill myself?" Elspeth demanded, her voice hard.

"Everyone you love will die if you don't."

The words hit Elspeth like a ton of bricks. She processed them and tried to comprehend what Moriarty had said to her, her heart hammering. "Dad," she whispered without meaning to.

"Everyone, Ellie."

The next person was obvious – "John," Elspeth said, then looked at Moriarty for confirmation.

"_Everyone_," he whispered.

Her stomach twisting uncomfortably, Elspeth choked out, "Mycroft." Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly Hooper was close behind, but why would Moriarty target them when he could simply kill her family?

"Three bullets, three gunmen, three victims. There's no stopping them now," Moriarty told her. "Unless my people see someone jump."

"Someone," Elspeth repeated, hope creeping into her eyes.

"They were expecting Sherlock, but I warned them to expect either of you . . . and now the bullet reserved for someone else will go straight through your daddy's head unless you jump."

Breathing heavily, Elspeth stared past Moriarty. The horror of it consumed her. Her legs shook so much that it was hard for her to stand, and she barely noticed Moriarty approaching her, his hands resting either side of her face. They were warm. Elspeth never expected his hands to be warm, for some reason she'd always thought he would be cold. The warmth made him seem . . . oddly human.

But Moriarty wasn't human. He was a monster. And she was an idiot for ever thinking that she could outsmart him.

"You can have me arrested, you can torture me you can do anything you like with me, but nothing's going to prevent them from pulling the trigger. The people you love the most will die unless . . ."

"Unless I kill myself," Elspeth finished. Her voice trembled.

Moriarty's smile was ecstatic. "You've got to admit that's sexier."

"If I die, my Dad will be destroyed . . . he won't cope, he'll be a disgrace."

"Well _duh_, we've already gone through this," Moriarty said, bored. "That's the _point _of this." Letting go of Elspeth, he turned and looked over the edge of the roof again. He reached out, taking Elspeth's hand in his own unexpectedly and pulling her to his side. His grip was so strong that she couldn't pull away. "Look, you've got an audience now. Off you pop." He let go of Elspeth's hand. "Go on."

"Please," Elspeth pleaded one last time.

"Go on," Moriarty repeated. He put his hand on her back and gave a gentle push. Taking in a deep breath, Elspeth stepped up onto the ledge and stared ahead of her, refusing to look down. "Atta girl," Moriarty said from behind her.

Slowly, reluctantly, Elspeth looked down. She regretted the decision immediately, swaying unsteadily. "I feel sick," she murmured.

"Your death is the only thing that's going to call off the killers. I'm certainly not going to do it." Moriarty took a step forwards, looking up at Elspeth expectantly.

"Now?" she asked him.

"Now."

Clenching and unclenching her fists, Elspeth exhaled shakily as she shuffled forwards only slightly. Moriarty was silent behind her, waiting, watching.

Suddenly, a thought sprung to her mind. "_You're _not going to do it," Elspeth said softly.

"What?" Moriarty demanded angrily.

She couldn't help it – Elspeth grinned widely, half turning on the ledge so she could look down at Moriarty. "You're not going to do it," she repeated. She stepped down from the ledge. "So they can be called off. I don't have to die. _No one _has to die if you call your men off."

"Oh!" Moriarty laughed with relief. "You think you can _make _me stop the order? You think _you_ can make me do that? Your Uncle and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to."

"There's a gun in your pocket," Elspeth said without hesitation.

"And do you think you could do that? Do you think you could shoot a man in cold blood just to make him do what you want?" Moriarty asked. Elspeth blinked. "Shall we test that theory?" Reaching into his pocket, Moriarty took the gun from his pocket, grabbed Elspeth's wrist and forced it into her hand. "Go on. It's all yours."

Elspeth held the gun uncertainly. Sherlock and John had one each, and there was no doubt Lestrade had access to guns from the police force, but Elspeth had only held one once – in the Elizabeth Tower, when she stopped the tour guide from being shot. It felt heavy in her hands.

"You _talk_ big," Moriarty taunted. "You're ordinary, Ellie. Ordinary – you're on the side of the angels."

"I may be on their side," Elspeth said softly, taking the safety catch off and holding the gun up so it was pointing straight at him. "It doesn't mean I'm _one _of them."

For a few seconds, Jim Moriarty and Elspeth Holmes stood in silence, his eyes on the gun she held in her trembling hands. It would be so easy to shoot him – not kill him, just hurt him enough to make him call of the assassins. She was half tempted to shoot him in the shoulder, like his sniper had done to her.

Her finger rested on the trigger. Moriarty quirked an eyebrow. _Do it,_ they urged.

Elspeth took in a deep breath, then took her finger off the trigger. She put the safety catch back on. She couldn't do it. She couldn't shoot Moriarty because then she would be no better than him, she would be corrupted and _evil_.

"I didn't think you could do it," Moriarty mocked. He plucked the gun from her hands, tucking it back into his pocket. There was no point in resisting. She was going to die anyway.

"Because I'm nothing like you," Elspeth told him.

They locked eyes for a few seconds more, a slow smile spreading across Moriarty's face. "No," he whispered. He gazed at Elspeth with a strange look in his eyes, like he adored her and couldn't take his eyes off her. "No, you're not like me. You're not ordinary at all." Slowly, carefully, Moriarty let both his hands trail across Elspeth's cheeks before cupping them gently. "You are . . . completely extraordinary."

His thumbs stroked her cheeks. Elspeth knew she should've pulled away, but she couldn't. Shutting his eyes, Moriarty leaned forwards and let his forehead rest against hers.

"Thank you," he said with delight. "_Thank _you! Elspeth Holmes." Moriarty said her name with such reverence that it could've been mistaken for affection, love even. He nodded frantically. "Thank you. _Bless _you."

Though she had time to pull away as he leaned forwards, Elspeth didn't move when Moriarty kissed her. She felt the pressure of his lips on her own, his hands tightening slightly on her face, but could barely comprehend it all before he pulled away again, smiling down at her.

"As long as I'm alive, you can save your loved ones, you've got a way out," Moriarty said softly, looking at her from under his eyelashes. "Well, good luck with that."

It all happened so fast after that. Grinning manically, Moriarty reached for his gun again and opened his mouth wide, pulling Elspeth even closer as he raised the gun to his mouth. She tore herself from his grip, stumbling backwards, barely having enough time to get away before she heard the gunshot. Moriarty fell, landing on the roof with a dull thud, and Elspeth heard a high pitched scream pierce the air. It wasn't until she covered her hands with her mouth that she realised she had been the one screaming.

Shaking and whimpering, Elspeth stared in horror at the blood trickling out from underneath Moriarty's head. She felt sick – she couldn't see – she was dizzy . . . collapsing to her knees, Elspeth scrambled away, trying to supress the urge to throw up.

"Oh my God," she whispered, clutching her hair. "Oh my God."

Thinking frantically for a moment, Elspeth realised with horror that if Moriarty was dead, there was no one to call off the assassins . . .

Elspeth used the ledge to pull herself up, breathing heavily. She stepped up onto the ledge again, looking down at the ground below. She watched as a taxi pulled up on the pavement opposite the hospital. Her heart missed a beat when she saw Sherlock and John.

Sherlock's phone in her pocket started to ring. Mechanically, Elspeth took it out, looked at the caller ID and answered. "John," she said.

"Hi Ellie, we thought you'd have Sherlock's phone. Are you still at the hospital?"

"Er –" Sherlock and John started to walk towards the hospital. "No, no, stop," Elspeth said quickly, her tone frantic. "Go back."

"We're coming in –"

"_No_, you can't," Elspeth interrupted so urgently that John stopped. Sherlock paused as well, turning to frown at his friend in confusion. "Both of you . . . go back, walk back, _please_." John turned back with Sherlock in tow. "Ok, stop there."

"Where are you?" John asked, his confusion evident in his voice.

"Could you . . . could you hand the phone to my Dad please?"

John didn't question her, simply handed Sherlock the phone. "Ellie, where are you?"

Elspeth swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Look up," she whispered. "I'm on the roof." She watched as Sherlock craned his neck backwards, John copying him.

"_No_," Sherlock whispered.

"I can't come down . . . we . . . we have to talk like this," Elspeth said, her voice shaking so hard that she hardly articulate. Tears rolled down her cheeks uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, Dad, I'm so sorry."

"What's happened?" Sherlock demanded urgently. "Ellie, tell me what's wrong."

"I thought –" Elspeth cut herself with a sob. "Oh God, I thought I was doing the right thing, I'm so sorry, Dad." Lowering her head, Elspeth gave herself a few seconds to try and compose herself before speaking again. "I made a huge mistake, I have to do this so you're safe – I'm _sorry_."

"Elspeth," Sherlock said slowly. He only called her Elspeth when she was in trouble, and for some reason, it only made her cry harder. "Get down from the ledge. John and I will come meet you –"

"No, you _can't_!" Elspeth interrupted. "Don't you understand? You _can't _come up here and I _can't_ just walk away from this – he told me I can't." Glancing over her shoulder, Elspeth stared down at Moriarty's still body. "Dad, I thought I was doing the right thing, I thought I was helping . . . Moriarty was real, the computer code was fake – he organised the whole thing, he was going to kill you –" Elspeth cut herself off as she struggled to breathe.

"Stop it," Sherlock told her. "Stop it right now." He took a few steps towards the hospital.

"_No! _Dad, you _have _to stay where you are! Don't move." She didn't realise, but Elspeth slowly raised her hand, reaching for her Dad. "I'm sorry, Dad, I'm so sorry."

"Ellie . . ."

"I just want you to know that I love you, ok?" Elspeth almost choked on the words. She couldn't remember the last time she'd told Sherlock she loved him. The words felt heavy in her throat as she said them. When Elspeth first met Sherlock, and he was introduced to her as her father, she was elated. She'd read stories about little girls and their dads, she'd seen all her friends play and hug their dads, and suddenly she had one of her own. Even as her mother flitted in and out of her life, Sherlock was there.

He was always there. When she joined primary and secondary school, when she had her exams, when she got her heart broken for the first time, through the good times and the bad times. Sherlock was the one who sat by her side when she was ill and the one who soothed her back to sleep when she had nightmares. Sherlock brought her up, taught her everything she knew, cared for her and _loved _her so fiercely that he would lay down his life for her.

And now she was doing the same for him. "I love you, Dad," Elspeth told him firmly. "I love you and Uncle Mycroft and Nan and Granddad. You have to tell them that – tell Lestrade, and Mrs Hudson, and Molly and –" she hesitated. "Tell John as well."

On the ground, Sherlock shook his head. "No," he whispered, repeating the word over and over again, begging for this to be a dream. He had never felt so desperate before. Sherlock couldn't tear his eyes off his daughter, watching her take a small step towards the edge.

For the first time, Sherlock couldn't understand what was going on. He could hear the words Elspeth said, but he couldn't comprehend them properly. It was like his ears were stuffed with cotton buds, his brain felt foggy. Next to him, John was staring at Elspeth, unable to look away.

"Ellie," Sherlock said softly. His voice cracked as he supressed a sob. "Ellie, please."

"I'm sorry," Elspeth repeated, her voice barely audible. "I love you." She paused, sobbed, then took in a deep breath. "Goodbye, Dad."

Letting her arm fall to her side, Elspeth ended the call and dropped the phone on the roof, not far from Jim Moriarty's body. She stared at him for a few seconds. There was a triumphant, chilling smile on his face, mocking her even in death. She hated him for it.

"No," Sherlock repeated. His voice raised. "NO – _ELSPETH!_"

Elspeth gazed ahead of herself, then shut her eyes and took one last step forwards. Her arms spread out, she fell.

For a few seconds, it was almost like flying. Elspeth could feel the wind course through her hair, pushing against her as she was falling – falling – _falling –_

John had never heard a grown man scream the way Sherlock had, frozen to the spot as the detective raced forwards, pushing the crowds of people out of the way with no care or thought, desperate to get to Elspeth.

She was still. Still, silent, not breathing. Her eyes was shut. She looked so peaceful, almost like she could be sleeping, but there was blood – so much blood, too much. It trickled from her nose and covered the back of her head, rolling down her chin as Sherlock rolled his daughter from her front to her side. Sherlock barely noticed the tears on his cheeks or the way his whole body trembled. His hands clutched her arms, expecting her eyes to snap open and a wide grin to spread across her face as she celebrated, telling him she'd fooled him. He waited. Elspeth stayed still.

"Let me through, I'm a doctor," John insisted weakly, like he couldn't belief what had happened. That made two of them. He pushed himself through the crowd, dropped to his knees on Elspeth's other side and took her wrist in his hand. Sherlock fought the selfish impulse to snatch her away from him.

He watched John. Slowly, carefully, John let go of Elspeth's wrist and laid it down next to her, unable to meet Sherlock's eyes. "I . . . she's . . . Ellie's gone," he said in a low voice.

Sherlock could hear the words, could understand them, but there was something very wrong about them.

"She can't be," he insisted.

"Sherlock, she is." John blinked back the tears. Swallowed past the lump in his throat. Uttered the words he'd dreaded saying since Elspeth hit the ground. "Ellie is dead."

Sherlock clung onto Elspeth for as long as he could, holding her hand even when the paramedics took her from his arms, lifting her onto a stretcher and wheeling inside. Someone peeled him away, voices talking soothingly, hands gentle but insistent even as he tried to keep hold of his daughter. Her fingers slipped from his, her hand dangling lifelessly off the stretcher as she disappeared into the hallways of the hospital.

She died upon impact, the doctor told them. "It was an instantaneous death, very quick," he said. "If it's any comfort, your daughter didn't suffer. I'm truly sorry, Mr Holmes."

It began with silence. Sherlock's face crumpled, tears streaming down his cheeks at an uncontrollable rate, before his body suddenly collapsed in itself, his legs giving way as he fell to the floor. The silence didn't last long – Sherlock suddenly started to cry loudly, wailing and howling like a wounded animal, and John knelt on the ground next to his friend, holding him in his arms while they both cried.

"It's alright, mate," John told him through his tears, his forehead pressed against his friend's back. "It's alright, everything's going to be alright."

* * *

People knew and loved Elspeth Holmes, and a lot of them attended her funeral. Lestrade went with his wife on his arm, both of them sombre, Lestrade fighting back the tears when he looked at the large photo of Elspeth propped up by the door of the Church. Anderson and Donovan turned up to pay their respects, sitting near the back so not to cause any trouble. Mrs Hudson could barely contain her tears as she sat at the front with a grim looking John, who kept one arm around her and his eyes on Sherlock. Most of the students from Elspeth's college attended, holding photos and garlands and poems they had written for her. The most surprising guest was Irene Adler, who strode in with her head held high and sat down on Sherlock's other side, holding his hand silently.

Mycroft's eyes were red and bloodshot when he arrived, quietly murmuring to Sherlock that their parents were unable to attend the service. "Mummy is . . . she didn't want to have to say goodbye," he explained. Sherlock nodded. None of them wanted to say goodbye.

Everyone did, though. Several people stood up to speak about Elspeth – Mycroft, Lestrade, John, a few of her friends and teachers from college. Sherlock spoke last.

"Elspeth . . ." he began uncertainly, pausing to gather his thoughts. He'd tried to write a speech but every time he sat down to do it, his mind went blank. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at the photos of his daughter. "Elspeth came to me when she was very young, and I was, quite frankly, a terrible father at first.

"I had no understanding of parenthood, nor did I have any desire to _become_ a father, but when I saw Elspeth for the first time –" Sherlock paused again. His lips twitched into the slightest of smiles. "– I am not an emotional man. I had no idea that one could fall in love so quickly, or that this kind of love was so strong that I would happily swap places with my daughter right now if it meant she was alive and happy.

"I cannot say anything about Elspeth that hasn't already been said. She was a beautiful, kind, intelligent, funny young woman. She had her bad qualities of course; she was nearly as stubborn as me –" a few people smiled at this remark. "– and an absolutely _terrible_ cook, I know that Mrs Hudson spent countless hours trying to teach her, but to no prevail. Elspeth was . . . foolish, as well, to think that she could achieve the tremendous tasks she put upon herself.

"However, these can be overlooked with her good qualities. Elspeth was a kind girl – to most people – and despite her appalling tastes in music, she was open minded, more so than me. The most important thing we should all remember about Elspeth, though, was that without her, I would not be the man I am today. Ellie, my daughter, made me human, kept me right, and most importantly, opened my heart to the notion of love."

Mrs Hudson let out a small sob, trying to conceal it with her handkerchief, and John gently patted her hand, fighting back his own tears. Sherlock blinked. He took in a deep breath. He looked over his shoulder a final time, gazing into the eyes of his daughter, taking in her wide smile and carefree attitude.

"Elspeth would not want us to be sad. In fact, I suspect she would be thoroughly disappointed in us all for crying so much over her, so when you remember her, I implore you to think of her in a positive way. Don't remember that she's dead, remember that she was a bright and happy girl who carried an enormous amount of love in her heart. I . . . I love you, Ellie, wherever you are."

It started with the Woman. She started to clap suddenly, the sound startlingly loud in the silence of the Church. John looked at her, then joined in, followed by Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. Slowly but surely, everyone clapped, applauding Sherlock for his speech and, most importantly, applauding Elspeth for being the girl they all knew and loved. Wherever she was, they just hoped she was happy.

After the funeral, after the Woman had gone and John had met Mary and Mrs Hudson had stopped fussing over him, Sherlock got to work. He barely rested as he fought to bring down every part of Moriarty's organisation, travelling all over the world and going to immeasurable lengths to destroy the work of the man who had killed his daughter. It would take him several years to do it, even with Mycroft's help, but eventually, Moriarty's web of crime would be gone and the world would be a brighter place.

There would come a time when Sherlock would finally be at peace, and in those hours, he would sit in his chair, close his eyes and go to his mind palace . . .

* * *

_He opens the door slowly. He's spent several minutes walking the corridors of his mind palace, every footstep echoing, his heart pounding with anticipation. He peeks into the room expectantly. _

"_Daddy!" a voice cries. Elspeth – four years old, her unruly hair scraped into bunches, her eyes bright – runs across the room and hurtles into his legs, beaming up at him. Grinning back, Sherlock bends down and scoops Elspeth into his arms, holding her close like he used to. Her legs curl around his waist, her arms around his neck, and she hugs him tightly. "Where did you go, Daddy?" she asks him. "I missed you."_

"_I know, I missed you too," Sherlock tells her honestly. She smells of the raspberry shampoo he bought for her because she insisted that all her friends use it. He kisses the top of her head. "What have you been doing?" _

_Elspeth shows him her dirty hands, covered in marker pen. "Colouring!" _

_Sherlock puts Elspeth down on her feet and she grabs him by the hand, dragging him across the room so she can show him her drawing. They sit together for several hours, colouring and playing games, and eventually, Elspeth curls up onto her father's lap while he reads her endless stories. Sherlock will never see his daughter in real life again, and the hours they spend together in his mind palace are valuable to him._

"_Did you defeat the bad guys yet, Daddy?" Elspeth asks him in a small voice, tired. Sherlock nods, brushes her hair out of her face and tightens his arm around her._

"_Yes," he tells her. "Yes I did."_

"_Good. I love you, Daddy."_

_Sherlock Holmes smiles. "I love you too." _

There would come a time when Sherlock would spend hours in his mind palace with his daughter, and eventually, in many years to come, Sherlock Holmes would join Elspeth Holmes in death, wherever she was. And wherever that was, they were both happy.

_I must become a lion hearted girl_

_Ready for a fight_

_Before I make the final sacrifice_


End file.
